


Cracked Polish

by Nepetas_Apprentice



Series: Sharpay [2]
Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Eating Disorders, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, things get a little better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 08:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8243029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepetas_Apprentice/pseuds/Nepetas_Apprentice
Summary: Paul goes to check in on Pay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on my tumblr. You can read it [here](http://spicedchocolate.tumblr.com/post/149204084404/mwm)!
> 
> Pay belongs to [trashpandaballs](trashpandaballs.tumblr.com)

The plastic bag slipped out of Paul’s hand. It crashed to the floor, scattering its instant noodle bowls and packs of cigarettes. Paul hardly noticed, kicking a styrofoam cup under the bed as he rushed forward, panic gripping his chest.

“Pay!”

The lump on the bed moved but did not speak. Pay’s was pale, the skin under his eyes stained with dark circles. His hair, normally just messy, was now filthy, grease caked on from days without washing, and Paul could see several places where thick knots had formed in it. Somehow, though, his nails looked the worst, the pink polish chipped and several nails chewed down to uneven nubs. It made Paul’s skin crawl, for reasons he couldn’t begin to explain.

He leaned on the bed and touched Pay’s shoulder, trying to roll him over gently while keeping his sense of urgency. Pay rolled the other way and moaned slightly. It was a sign, at least, that he was conscious.

“Jesus christ, Pay,” Paul whispered, staring at his shoulder blades, clearly outlined underneath his pale skin. “How long have you been here?”

“I dunno,” Pay said into the sheets, his voice rasping. “I got some water a few hours ago.”

Paul tried to roll him over again, but Pay still resisted, his strength surprising for someone so lean.

“When was the last time you ate something?” Paul demanded.

Pay hummed. “What day is it?”

“You’re kidding me,” Paul said. When he received no response, he clamped a hand over Pay’s shoulder and pulled him back, forcing the other man to face him. He hated to see such a pained expression on a person who looked so much like Patryk, but he had to get Pay to look him in the eyes. “Have you really not eaten in _days_?”

Pay shrugged.

“Sorry, daddy.”

Paul had no idea what to be angrier about. He stood up off the bed and stalked back to the discarded instant noodles, picking one up and carrying it to the kitchen. He noticed a fine layer of dust on all of the counters and that the microwave door sat slightly ajar, the timer still stuck at three seconds left. There were two plates in the sink, but whatever they had once held was now an unidentifiable crust stuck firmly to the ceramic, more concrete that anything edible.

Paul filled the cup with tap water and put it in the microwave, setting the timer for sixty seconds before slamming the door. While waiting for the noodles, he pulled a glass out of the cabinet beside the sink and filled it with water, then carried it back to Pay’s bedroom.

The man had not moved an inch since Paul left, save for his eyes, which stayed on Paul as he maneuvered past the discarded bag and up to the bed. He thrust the glass of water forward, and would not move until Pay took it and brought it to his lips, taking slow gulps until the glass was empty.

“Happier now, daddy?” Pay asked as he handed back the glass, a smirk edging onto his exhausted features. Paul felt a tick in his left eye.

“Knock it off,” he grumbled. The microwave timer started beeping, so he turned around and walked back to the kitchen. He set down the glass beside the sink and then opened up the drawer underneath the microwave, retrieving a fork from inside.

“So, does you darling fiancé know you’re here, or is this our secret?” Pay called from his bedroom. His voice still sounded weak, which meant that all of his energy was coming from his own innate instinct to spite people. Paul didn’t think he should engage but as he pulled out the cup and gave it a few good stirs, he reasoned that getting Pay to talk had to be better than nothing.

“We’re not engaged, Pay,” he said as he returned to the room, fork in one hand and steaming cup in the other. “Just dating.”

“Uh-huh. We all know it’s going to happen any day now, just need you two to stop giggling around each other long enough for one of you to pop the question.” Pay squinted up at the instant noodles, making no move to take them from Paul. “That’s not the spring-onion flavor, is it?” he asked. “I’m kicking you out of my apartment if you got spring onion.”

“I don’t know what flavor it is, I never eat this stuff,” Paul said, turning the cup around to see the label. “I swear, this is just the first one I picked up, if you want something else I can—”

“Relax, Paul,” Pay said, taking the cup out of Paul’s hand so that he could no longer inspect it. He turned it towards himself, mouth quirking slightly. “Chicken flavor. See? Everything’s fine.”

Well, that wasn’t how Paul would describe this situation. He stared at Pay’s thin arms, the hollows of his cheeks. Even with his characteristic smirk, he seemed exhausted and lifeless, not the man who would occasionally pinch Paul’s butt if he let his guard down. Now, he could hardly hold himself upright in bed, and he continued to stare down at the instant noodles without making any actual move to eat them.

“Well?” Paul said, sitting down a small distance from Pay on the bed. “You’ve got to be hungry, just go ahead.”  


Still, Pay made no move to start eating. He looked down at the cup, brow furrowing as he stared at the label. Paul worried for a moment that he really had gotten spring onion, but then he realized that Pay’s gaze was unfocused, distracted.

“Please, Pay,” Paul said, trying to keep desperation out of his voice. “Patryk’s worried about you.”

Pay’s lip trembled.

“Really,” he said, his voice starting to crack. “Well, I’m glad that he’s worried. Kinda couldn’t tell since, you know, he didn’t bother to come with you. Or call. Or text.” He shook his head, greasy hair swinging outward before immediately going limp again. “Really, Paul, it really shows that brotherly love, hearing his boyfriend say that he’s worried.”

“H- hey, I’m not making it up,” Paul said, watching wisps of steam arch high over the noodle cup. “It’s just, you know, it’s just hard for him.”

“Right. Guess there’s one thing we have in common besides our looks.”

Paul had to look away at that point. His gaze traveled around the room, noticing the piles of discarded clothes that looked like the mounds of earth on top of a grave. On top of one he saw a neon pink shirt, wrinkled and inside-out. He could see the faint lettering showing through, but he looked away before he could read it, not that anything else in the room could make him feel any better.

“Please, Pay,” he sighed, fingers curling into the bedspread. “I, I… _I’m_  worried about you.”  


Pay was quiet for a moment, and Paul was hopeful that it meant he had finally decided to eat. When he turned to look, though, he was only met with Pay’s eyes full of indignation.

“What, so now you’re going to guilt me into it?” he sneered. “Know that I’m not interested in taking care of myself for my own sake, so you’re going to use your wellbeing as an excuse?”  


“ _No_.” Paul bit the word out before he could stop himself. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he focused his gaze on Pay. “Listen, Pay, I know we’ve had our differences, but you’re still my friend, and I care about you. I just don’t want to see you waste away to nothing.”  


Pay’s cheeks turned red. He looked away,  glaring at some spot on his wall, and _oh god was he crying_. He mumbled something, the words strangled on a sob Paul could hear trying to break free.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” Paul said, leaning in closer.  


“I said, you still chose Patryk over me,” Pay said, voice emotionless. It trailed off at the end, as though Pay wasn’t sure whether he was done speaking or not and simply left the words behind somewhere along the way.  


Paul felt something sharp go through his heart. He knew that it wasn’t his fault, or Patryk’s, or even Pay’s that they had ended up in this situation, but he couldn’t help the ugly feelings that surfaced because of it. Much as he hated to admit it, sometimes, life was just fucking unfair.

He looked over Pay once more. He was still sitting up, with fork in one hand and cup in the other, but he seemed deflated somehow, smaller than he had just a few moments ago. Paul realized that it was because the other man was tired, but not just because of hunger. All these years of watching his brother get everything that he himself wanted, of course it had started to weigh on him. He carried the weight of his own failures every day, so that now he barely had the strength left to feed himself. Of course he was tired.

“Pay.” He reached a hand forward, then pulled back, not sure if Pay was in the mood to be touched right now. Pay didn’t seemed to notice. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but I can’t control my feelings as much as you can’t control yours.” He fisted up the sheets in his hands. He had never been so _scared_  of saying the wrong thing. “But that’s just it, they’re my feelings, and they have nothing to do with your value as a person. You’re a good friend, and a great brother, and probably the best-dressed guy I’ve ever met. And someday, you’ll meet someone who can love you for all of that. All of you.” He motioned towards the cup. “I think you should stick around to meet them.”  


Tears were rolling down Pay’s cheeks before Paul finished speaking, his frail body shivering as he finally broke down. Paul had already known that Pay was a quiet crier, but it was still off-putting to see the man shaking so silently, and he half wondered if he was actually in some amount of pain. Cautiously, he reached forward, placing a steadying hands on Pay’s shoulder. He felt the man tense for a moment under his touch before he became distracted by his own crying again and simply let Paul anchor him there.

They sat like that until Pay’s tears eventually slowed and then stopped, the final one landing on his bed with a gentle _pat_. He did not look at Paul at that point, but instead simply raised the cup up to his face, poking at it with the fork for a moment before taking a bite of soggy noodles.

Paul felt something in him relax at the sight of Pay chewing and swallowing, the tenseness leaking out of him and leaving him with a pleasant feeling in his chest. Pay was timid at first, nibbling at the noodles and assorted vegetables, before he finally started to realize his own hunger and shoveled more into his mouth, eating so quickly that Paul was afraid he might choke. When all of the solid food was gone, he tipped his head back and chugged the broth, not taking a break for air before the entire cup was empty.

Paul looked on, watching until Pay had completely drained the cup. He still looked tired, but something about him seemed a little more alive now. His skin might have looked less pale, or he might have sat up a bit straighter. His nails, though, were still a problem, the chipped polish becoming more noticeable as the rest of Pay started to come back to life. It looked wrong to Paul, and he realized he couldn’t leave Pay like this.

“Okay, it’s time you got out of that bed,” he said, taking back the cup and fork. Pay frowned, but still let go. “Do you have pants on?”

“Yes,” Pay said, “but I can fix that, if you want.” He winked, and it was all Paul could do not to shove him off the bed.

“Nope, we’ll be fine without that,” he said, standing up and walking over to one of the clothing piles. He picked up the pink shirt had had been looking at earlier and tossed it to the bed, trying not to laugh as Pay jumped and tried to catch it. “Put that on, we’re going out.”

“Going where?” Pay called as Paul walked back into the kitchen. He threw away the cup and went to wash the fork, surprised at first to actually find a sponge in Pay’s sink, only to turn it over and discover the yellow foam had turned dark brown and shriveled. He opened the cabinet under the sink, pulled a new sponge out of the pack he found, and then rinsed and cleaned the fork, tossing it into the cutlery drawer when he was done. He walked back to Pay’s room.

“Where are we going?” Pay repeated. He still wasn’t wearing the shirt, but he had sat himself upright in bed and had his legs dangling over the side.  


“I don’t know,” Paul said, leaning against the doorframe. “I was thinking you could give me directions to a decent nail salon, seems like you would know where to find that kind of thing.”  


Pay cracked a smile. It was just a little one, but it was there, Paul could see it.

“Gonna get yourself a manicure? I know just the perfect color for you” Pay said, starting to pull the shirt over his head.  


“I’ll get one, but it going to be clear polish, none of your colors,” Paul said. “I have an actual job, where people kind of take me seriously. They suit you better, anyway.”  


“Aw, eyebrows, you’re making me blush,” Pay sighed. He pulled his hair out of his shirt, seemingly undisturbed by the grease, and tried to stand. His legs wobbled beneath him, but before Paul could lend a hand he found his footing and managed to straighten himself out. He paused for a few breaths, then turned to Paul, his eyes alight with something familiar.  


“Well, let’s go,” he said.  


Pay stumbled on the way out, catching himself on the railings several times to keep from smashing his head on the stairs. Paul worried that he had made a mistake, rushing them out of the apartment so quickly, but Pay insisted that he was fine, and he did manage to make it to Paul’s car without any serious accidents.

Paul waited a moment while Pay got himself situated in the passenger seat, taking a few tries to buckle himself in properly. When he was done, he turned to stare at Paul, clearly wondering why they hadn’t started moving yet.

“Pay, I…” He clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t know what he was trying to say, exactly, and he definitely didn’t know what the right thing to say was. He wish there existed some secret word he could say that would make everything alright, but there wasn’t. He couldn’t stop Pay from chewing the polish off of his nails, just offer to help make them pretty once again, and he couldn’t fix everything that was wrong. But god, he wished he could.  


He tried again.

“Pay, I have no idea where I’m going,” he said. “Can you give me directions?”  


Pay pointed in the direction they needed to go. Paul backed the car out of their parking space, taking care to watch for pedestrians, before he pulled out onto the road, turned right, and drove away from the apartment.


End file.
